


New Neighbour

by WayWorseThanScottish



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Mr. Pickles is a cat, and eggsy's flat is haunted, canon typical language, the one where they're neighbours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayWorseThanScottish/pseuds/WayWorseThanScottish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based off the prompt: “I moved into the appartment next door and it’s 100% haunted please let me crash here for the night” au</p><p>Eggsy moves into his first flat, only to realize why it's so bloody cheap. It's haunted. </p><p>And that’s how he met his next door neighbour. Bleeding feet, ratty pajamas, sleep-mussed hair, a frantic look in his eye and wielding a baseball bat. Overall, not a good look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Neighbour

Eggsy couldn’t believe that he had gotten this sick flat for such a low price. Really, there was nothing wrong with it. When he first toured it with the real estate rep, the floors were a little creaky, but she’d explained it away saying it was an old building. What he didn’t get though, was why this flat was so cheap, when the neighbouring flat was over twice the price.

Either way, he wasn’t one to complain. He’d just gotten a part-time job at the chemist’s down the street, and had made enough money to get himself this decently nice flat. Daisy was old enough to be in nursery, so he felt it was safe enough for him to move out. His mum’s shift always ended before Daisy got home, so it wasn’t like Dean ever was alone with her. And Eggsy’d promised to visit every weekend, not that he could ever resist seeing Daisy weekly.

So here he was, his first night in his first flat. He had a lamp in his room, and a couple lightbulbs everywhere out, but there was something messed up with the wiring, because they flickered no matter what way he twisted the bulbs. Luckily he had bed linens and a pillow, but that about made up the entirety of his household belongings.

Not that it mattered. Living here with barely nothing was infinitely better than getting beat by Dean and his chums, and being scared to walk down the street. Honestly the street he was living on now was almost _posh._

Eggsy burrowed under his thin cotton covers, trying to get comfortable on his lumpy mattress. He gave up after punching his pillow into a better shape for the fifth time, and slumped into his bed.

 _Fuck,_ but the flat was loud! The refrigerator was prolly decades older than he was, so he could understand the weird thunking and whirring noise it made. But the building itself was newer than the one he lived in with his family, so there was no reason for that much creaking! It set Eggsy’s teeth on edge, ‘cos it almost sounded like footsteps.

He heard a crash, and immediately got up to investigate. He wasn’t no idiot in the horror films, though. He flipped the light switch and got out his baseball bat (one of the few things he’d brought with him—ain’t no crook gonna find him defenseless). The hallway outside his room was luckily empty, but the picture frame he’d hung up of Daisy and his mum had fallen and shattered to pieces. He picked it up, cursing when his unlucky foot had found a stray piece of glass. The hook on the frame was still intact, and as he inspected the wall, the nail was still in place too.

Fuckin’ weird, that’s for sure. Still, it was prolly like a random draft or something. Eggsy shrugged to himself and pulled out the piece of glass from his foot. Shit, it was late at night though. He’d spent so long putting his stuff away that he’d only just gotten to bed at midnight.

He headed back to his room, squinting in the flickering light, making sure he didn’t step on another piece of glass. Eggsy got into bed after putting the picture of his mum and Daisy beside him.

He closed his eyes and hoped for sleep to come quickly.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Nope.

He was still awake. The bloody faucet was leaky, and the creaking wouldn’t fucking stop. Also, the light turned back on again, and he could swear that there was a shadow in the corner of his room that should’nt’a been there.

He felt the corner of the mattress sink. Then somewhere closer to his foot.

“Fuckin’ nope, I’m outta here!” Eggsy whispered loudly, grabbing his baseball bat and backing out of his room and out of his flat entirely, slamming the door shut.

Well, fuck.

And that’s how he met his next door neighbour. Bleeding feet, ratty pajamas, sleep-mussed hair, a frantic look in his eye and wielding a baseball bat. Overall, not a good look.

“Uh, hello,” his neighbour said. Of course it was a posh bloke, figures for such an area. He was even fuckin’ wearin’ silk pajamas and a plaid cashmere robe. His chocolate brown hair was perfectly styled, and if the man wore glasses, well he’d have ticked off all the requirements for Eggsy’s dream guy.

“…. Hi,” Eggsy said, looking up from his crouched position. He stood up and grimaced, the glass in his foot unapologetically sharp.

“Are you hurt?” the man asked, squinting down at him. “Oh dear, how terribly rude of me. Please, come inside where I can fix it up,” he said, gesturing to his flat.

“Um, okay, yeah… fanks,” Eggsy answered, his brow crinkled. Was he about to be this man’s charity case? …Or worse. He was about to head into a stranger’s place. Eggsy hesitated, then decided to bring his bat with him.

He hesitated in the man’s darkened entrance way until his neighbour switched the lights on and gestured for him to come inside.

Fuck, this bruv’s flat was cool. It had the same layout as Eggsy’s, just flipped, but fuck did this guy know how to live life large. His style was a little old—tartan and paisley mostly, but the tech was cutting edge.

“Come sit,” his neighbour said, as Eggsy hobbled into view. “I’ll just grab my first aid kit.”

Eggsy nodded and set down his baseball bat beside his chair. He looked about the kitchen, all chrome, obviously, all state of the art with contraptions he couldn’t even hazard a guess at what they were. There was an apron hanging on one of the cupboard handles that was, of course, plaid, with bright green “kiss the cook” on the front. Eggsy grinned as he imagined his dapper neighbour in such a low-class outfit.

“I’m back,” the man said needlessly, shaking a white first aid kit in explanation. He also put on glasses—probably explained the squinting from before. The man took the seat next to Eggsy and gestured for him to give him his foot.

“I can do it meself,” Eggsy argued lightly.

“You’re comfortable enough holding your foot near your face for an extended period of time?” The man asked, as he searched through the kit for the right supplies.

“Uh, yeah, used to be a gymnast.”

“And what sort of medical training do you have?” the man asked.

Eggsy shrugged. “Enough t’ get by, I reckon.”

The man hummed derisively. “I’m trained as an EMT, so I think I’m the best for this situation… don’t you think?” he asked, gesturing for Eggsy’s foot again.

“If you say so, bruv.”

“My name is Harry Hart,” his neighbour said, as he grasped Eggsy’s foot and began taking out pieces of glass. “How did you get glass in your foot, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Eggsy blushed. “Ah, well, y’see, a picture frame broke an’ it was dark, so I stepped on it by accident.”

Harry frowned. “Speaking of which, why were you out in the hallway, Mr…”

“Unwin. Eggsy Unwin,” he gave a smile. Harry made an undignified snort. “What?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. Sorry, I interrupted you. Why were you out in the hallway?” Harry asked politely.

Eggsy cocked his head. “Well, um. I just moved into the flat next to yours yesterday… and, well, it’s um. It’s haunted.”

“Haunted?” Harry asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he bandaged up Eggsy’s other foot.

“Not really, prolly. ‘S’just that it creaks a lot, and the lights are all flickery. But yeah a picture frame got knocked down in the middle of the night, which I figured was just a draft or somefin, but then later on something was on my bed and I decided that I could deal with it later…” Eggsy grimaced. “Much later.”

“And so you ran out of your flat with a baseball bat?”

The younger man shrugged. “Had to defend meself, just in case, y’know?”

“Well, I hate to burst your fantastical bubble, but I’m afraid I own a cat.” Harry smiled apologetically, which Eggsy’d almost believe if he wasn’t shaking from holding back a laugh.

“A cat?”

“Oh yes,” Harry responded quite seriously. “Mr. Pickles likes to wander at night. I have a cat flap on my door, and the previous tenant of your flat installed a cat flap too. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Pickles went over to your flat to investigate you.”

“Fuck off,” Eggsy said with a grin.

“No, I genuinely have a cat named Mr. Pickles.” Harry whistled a tune and the floor creaked nearby. Suddenly, a cat jumped on Harry’s lap.

“Cute cat,” Eggsy laughed, watching the man stroke the tabby.

Harry hummed as he petted the eager cat. “Yes, he’s quite affectionate… sorry, but you said your last name is Unwin, yes?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be the son of Lee Unwin, would you?”

“… Yeah? Didja know ‘im or somefin?”

Harry smiled kindly. “I worked with him for a long time. In fact I think I met you at one point, did I not?”

“Oxfords not brogues,” Eggsy said, mostly to himself. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed. You’re very much like him, you know.”

“Yeah?”

Harry hummed again. He checked his watch. “Well, I suppose we could have an early breakfast. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon. What about you? Would you prefer returning to your flat? I make quite a delicious omelette, if you’d like.”

“What time’s’it?”

“Almost four in the morning.”

Eggsy was taken aback. “You think it’s late enough for breakfast?”

“I get up at five am,” Harry reasoned.

“What do you do? You still a paramedic?”

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m part of a private security business. Your dad was part of it too.”

“So, what, like bodyguards?”

“Similar to that profession, yes,” Harry answered, standing up and plopping Mr. Pickles on the ground. “So that was a yes to the omelette?”


End file.
